


The Fallen Snow

by Kohaku1977



Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kohaku1977/pseuds/Kohaku1977
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snowed in and only a few days to Christmas, Chris finds himself quite enjoying the accidental company of a blonde Californian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fallen Snow

**Author's Note:**

> For momotastic. Because when asked for steamy sex scenes, I apparently deliver long ass stories with plot. Who knew.

The snow was coming down steadily, unrelentingly, and even with the wipers going as fast as they could, Chris could not see far up the road ahead. He was leaning forward in his truck, staring through the bit of windshield that the wipers tried to clear, but it was snow, white road, snow, and hardly any use, so he slowed down some more, cussing at the weather and grateful that he only had four more miles to go. Thankfully, no one else was driving in this kind of weather, not this far out of town. His tires skidded on the road in the next curve, so he slowed down more, his truck crawling along, the headlights doing nothing to improve his sight. He thought of the groceries under his tarp, the supplies he had taken into the cab with him so they wouldn't get wet. He calculated the wood he had left back at the cabin, wondering if it would last for a week or at least until the storm was over. He thought of the pipes and how they had burst a few years ago in a winter like this one, and the spare tank of water he had installed inside so he would have water for coffee and cooking if all went south. He almost did not see the other car coming. It went faster then he did, on the middle of the road too, and Chris swerved his truck to the right. The car moved sluggish in the snow, and all Chris could think of what that the other car would hit him. He yanked the wheel around the same moment the other car swerved to the left and off the road and Chris hit the brakes, skidding and sliding and finally coming to a halt.   
  
He got out of the truck with shaking knees, running over to where the other car lay, hood under a snow pile on the shoulder of the road. The motor of the other car was still running, making a high winded noise, and Chris tried to open the driver's door but it was locked so he beat against the window, trying to get the driver's attention. The driver sat slumped over, stirring at the ruckus Chris was making and finally sat up, looking slightly dazed. Chris knocked on the window, gentler this time, and the driver opened the door.   
  
“Did I hit you?”  
“No. Are you alright?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Doesn't sound too convincing,” Chris said and looked him over.   
  
His blond hair hung into his face and when he pushed it back with one hand, Chris could see a small cut from where he must have hit the wheel. At least he was buckled up, thank God for that. Chris looked at the car while the driver got out and leaned against it heavily.  
  
“Are you hurt?”  
“No...”  
“You're bleeding.”  
“Car's wrecked.”  
  
Too bad the guy was right. Chris looked at the good dent he had put into the front of his car, nothing you couldn't fix, but he wouldn't get anywhere tonight. Chris walked around the car and reached in and shut off the motor. He looked back on the road. The town was 12 miles off, too far to walk. His cabin was two miles along the road and maybe the phone would still work. He looked at the other man and gave a sigh. Three days to Christmas. He probably had places to be. And the way he stood there, leaning against the side of the station wagon, looking lost, snow stuck to his hair and coat, Chris couldn't leave him. He'd probably freeze to death or get pneumonia.  
  
“Tell you what,” he said, “Let me take you to my place so you can phone a towing truck. You won't go anywhere in this storm on foot.”  
  
He looked at Chris, surprised.  
  
“That would be great, but I don't want to be a bother.”  
“Get in the truck, I'll grab your things.”  
“I can, no, let me.”  
  
Chris grabbed the lonely bag from the trunk.  
  
“It's Chris.”  
“Steve.”  
“Get in the truck, Steve.”  
  
Chris thought that he maybe was looking rather than a psycho than a shining knight right now, dark hair peeking out from under his beanie, stubble turning into beard, scarf wrapped tightly, jacket open and snow blown. But Steve walked towards the truck, no hesitation, and while they were roughly the same size as far as Chris could tell, right in this moment, the other man looked frail. Chris closed the door to the station wagon and trod over to his truck, sliding into the driver's seat. Steve had already buckled himself in and pushed the two bags with Chris' stuff around, one sat between his knees and the other one between him and the driver's seat. Chris smiled.  
  
“What are you doing out here, anyway?”  
“Visiting family.”  
“I think you should see a doctor,” Chris said as he pulled onto the road, “Maybe you can see one in town as soon as they bring your car in. You dizzy?”  
  
Steve shook his head, slowly, and then reached for the gash on his head.  
  
“I was sure I had hit you. It all went so fast. I tried to steer and the car wasn't responding and then it slid and there was this noise and...”  
“Breathe, alright? You didn't hit me. It's fine.”  
  
He took the last corner towards the cabin as slow as he could, trying to keep an eye on his passenger. When he looked over, he found Steve staring back at him.  
  
“I'm not some sort of crazy psycho mass murderer.”  
“Yeah, ok, I appreciate that.”  
“Where are you from?”  
“California. LA, actually.”  
“And you left the pleasant weather for this?” Chris laughed a little under his breath.   
  
He pulled into his driveway and stopped the car.  
  
“We're here.”  
  
They got out of the truck and Chris took both paper bags from the cab first, shouldering Steve's bag as well. He looked up at the cabin and saw the smoke curling out of his chimney. He guessed he could make coffee while they waited for the towing truck. Steve walked behind him, not saying a word, letting himself being ushered into the warmth of the house.  
  
“Take off your boots and sit down, I'll bring in the rest of my things.”  
“No, let me help, it's the least I can do.”  
“You hit your head pretty good, son, you better rest.”  
  
Chris went out again before Steve could say anything else. It took him two trips, and when he finally locked the door behind himself and hung his coat, Steve was dozing off on the sofa.   
Chris put more wood on the stove, hoping the house would heat up nicely and quickly, and dialed the number from the town's garage.  
  
“Hey, it's Chris,” he said when Jeff picked up. “Need your help.”  
  
Chris told the mechanic what happened, and when he described the damage to the car, Jeff made a huffing noise.  
  
“What?”  
“Can't come and get the car in this kind of weather. Maybe if it stops snowing.”  
“What do you mean, you can't? I got a stranger sitting on my couch, going nowhere if you don't fix his car!”  
“Sorry, Chris. If the snow stopped, I'd be there. Right now, there's nothing I can do.”  
“At least stop by tomorrow,” Chris finally said, hoping that Jeff would drive in daylight no matter the weather.  
“Don't make me say it again, boy,” Jeff said.  
“Yeah, you'll be here when the fuckin snow stops, got it.” Chris was grumbling by now.   
“Do you have enough supplies?”  
“For a few more days, yes. I'm not worried about myself here.”  
  
Jeff laughed low.  
  
“That never had been an issue with you, Chris. Let him call his family as long as the phone line's working and you'll figure out something. I'll be there as fast as I can.”  
  
They said their goodbyes and hung up. Chris looked out of the window into the steady snow fall, knowing that there was no way his unplanned visitor could be send on his way tomorrow. Even if Jeff came and did the repairs, he wouldn't be finished by nightfall.  
Chris knelt down next to the sofa and gently shook Steve at the shoulder. Steve blinked at him and immediately sat up.  
  
“Oh. I'm sorry. I must have...”  
“It's fine, don't worry. Wanted to ask if you want to call your family. Seems like your stuck here for the night.”  
  
At least, Chris thought but did not say.  
  
“Oh,” Steve said.  
“Look, don't worry, alright? I have plenty of supplies and maybe tomorrow the darn snow eases up. You'll be on your way then.”  
  
Steve smiled a half smile and accepted the phone Chris was all but pushing into his hands.  
  
“Hey mum, it's Steve.”  
  
Chris went into the kitchen to give Steve some space and privacy but found himself eavesdropping soon enough, and when he caught a soft “I'm sorry, no I'm fine, I'm just so sorry I can't be there” he started making coffee and cluttering with dishes and mugs and putting his groceries away.  
  
Steve came in and put the phone down on the table, looking around the small kitchen before sitting down on one of the two chairs.  
  
“Thanks, man, for letting me use your phone.”  
“No problem.”  
  
Chris waited for Steve to say more, but Steve looked out of the kitchen window and stayed silent. When Chris looked out too, he saw that the snow still had not eased up and thought it might fall all night like this. He placed a mug in front of Steve.  
  
“Have some coffee and warm up. I need to take a few precautions in case the weather stays like this.”  
“Let me help?”  
“No. Please rest.”  
  
When Chris came back in from chopping more wood, sweaty and tired, Steve was not on the sofa as Chris had hoped he would be. Chris piled the armful of wood he had brought in next to the stove when he heard a noise from the kitchen. He found Steve setting plates on the table, and when he shuffled in, surprised into silence, Steve looked up and smiled at him.  
  
“I hope you don't think... I didn't mean to impose or anything, but. I saw you outside and thought you might like dinner.”  
“I sure do,” Chris said and looked at the sandwiches Steve had prepared. “Let me grab a quick shower, and I'll be here.”  
  
When he sat down across from Steve a good twenty minutes later, Steve smiled that smile again and Chris found himself smiling back. Steve looked at him again and then quickly brought the coffee mug up to his mouth to hide a laugh.  
  
“What?”  
“You shaved.”  
  
Chris felt the heat rise in his cheeks.  
  
“Yeah, I did. No need to look all scruff with a visitor around.”  
“Thanks for helping me out,” Steve said.  
“Thanks for dinner.”  
  
Steve grinned. He looked less frail now, color back in his face, and the cut had long stopped bleeding. He looked awake even though a bit headachey, but Chris breathed a sigh of relieve that they would not need a doctor immediately.  
  
“How are you feeling?”  
“Terrible for being stuck here,” Steve said, only to look horrified a split second later, “No wait, that's not what I meant!”  
  
Chris chuckled.  
  
“What did you mean then,” he asked while standing up and putting away their dishes.  
  
“You probably have places to go yourself. Or, you know, family coming over or something.”  
“No.”  
  
Chris left it at that and Steve did not ask. They called it a night quickly after, both tired and quiet. Chris let Steve have the bedroom, placing his bag next to the bed and not accepting any of Steve's protests. The couch was fine, and as soon as he was settled, he was asleep.  
  
He woke to the smell of coffee and padded into the kitchen.  
  
“You know, keep this up and I'm praying for more snow.”  
  
Steve laughed. He was wearing sweatpants and a t shirt, and Chris suddenly felt grateful despite the reasons for why he was here.  
  
“You got a worse bed head than me,” Steve said with disturbing conviction.  
“You still can have the first shower.”  
“Aw, you only want to cling to your coffee.”  
“True.”  
  
Steve smiled and pointed out of the window.  
  
“I think that's more snow than I have ever seen in my whole life.”  
“Doesn't snow in California,” Chris shrugged. “Spent the Christmasses in shorts there.”  
“You've been to LA?”  
“Yeah, lived there for a while.”  
  
“You wore shorts?” Steve asked after a moment of contemplation.  
“No, but I could have. Wore tees. Bad enough. You ought to have snow in winter. Not that you'd understand, Mr Golden State.”  
“Dude, I know other places as well,” Steve said, sounded slightly offended.  
“Go shower, _dude_.”  
  
While doing the dishes, Chris called Jeff again.  
  
“At least your phone's still working,” Jeff said dryly.  
“Yeah, small favors. So?”  
“Didn't your mum teach you anything?”  
“My momma taught me a lot, including good manners, that's why I'm asking nicely.”  
“You're stuck another day at least, cowboy. Sorry for that. No way my truck'll make it up to your place.”  
  
Chris sighed.  
  
“Sorry, boy.”  
“It's two days till Christmas.”  
“I know.”  
  
Chris was about finished cleaning up when Steve came back in from the bedroom, this time layered up and wearing a scarf.  
  
“Are you cold,” Chris asked surprised.  
“Not anymore,” Steve said.   
“Bad news,” Chris started, but Steve waved him off.  
“It's still snowing. So it's no surprise.”  
“Do you want to call your family again?”  
“That would be awesome.”  
“Feel free. You don't have to ask, you know?”  
  
Steve looked down.  
  
“I can't pay you, you know? I think I only have fifty dollars emergency cash left on me. So unless you have an ATM hidden here somewhere...”  
“You don't have to pay me, Jeez.”  
  
Steve ducked his head a little and thanked him again before calling his family.  
  
“How come you don't have a tree,” Steve asked when he came back into the kitchen.  
“Because.”  
“What are you, the Grinch?”  
  
Chris laughed. “No, but I have no use for a tree.”  
  
“I'm stuck with the Grinch,” Steve muttered.  
  
It was only after lunch when Steve discovered Chris' guitar that sat semi hidden between the bookcase and half under the living room curtains.  
  
“You play? That is so cool! Can I?” Steve was reaching for it already.  
“You play too?”  
  
Steve settled the guitar on his lap and plugged at the strings, retuning her slightly before playing a melody. He grinned and then played God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.  
  
“Very funny,” Chris said, “You play good.”  
  
And he did. It sounded easy, and Steve looked as if he knew how to handle a guitar.  
  
“Play something else,” Chris said.  
“Grinch.”  
“Yeah, well. It's not yet Christmas.”  
  
Steve played for him, singing along softly, and Chris knew he stared but could not help it. After the third song he stood up, causing Steve to stop and look at him.  
  
“Bundle up, we're going outside.”  
“What?”  
“Quick, we will still need the day light.”  
  
Steve looked at him as if he was insane, but stood up and went into the bedroom to pull on another layer. When he came out again, Chris was already in boots and jacket, carrying the small ax he had used the day before.  
  
“You're not hacking me into bits and hide them in the woods, right?”  
“Hah, no.”  
  
It took them a while to get to the trail through the woods because of the snow, but Steve walked beside him without complaint. He sometimes would stop, looking around and then at Chris, grinning and bouncing slightly. They stopped at a small clearing where Chris had seen the trees earlier that year.  
  
“Pick one.”  
  
Steve gaped at him.  
  
“You're getting a Christmas tree?”  
“Yup.”  
“I didn't mean the Grinch thing like that, Chris.”  
“I know. Pick one.”  
  
Since his cabin did not offer that much room, Steve picked a medium sized one, double checking whether Chris liked it too, before allowing him to cut it down. They carried it back in silence, Steve holding the trunk at the end, while Chris trodded in front holding the tree near the tip. Back at the cabin he took his saw to the end of the trunk so it would have a straight base and nailed two pieces of wood to it, forming an X as a makeshift stand.  
  
The tree wobbled a bit after they put it up, but it stood surprisingly straight.  
  
“I have candles and candle holders somewhere. There probably won't be ornaments though.”  
“Don't worry, we'll make some.”  
  
Chris did not worry until they sat next to each other stringing popcorn and waiting for the cookies to be ready. Steve had made star shaped cookies with a hole in them so they could put them up by bits of string.   
  
“It’s been a while since I did this,” Chris confessed, his handiwork clumsy while Steve tied ribbons easily.  
“Me too,” Steve said, “But we used to do this when I was little. Make ornaments. Not only stars though, but paper cut snow flakes, devil’s ladders and little boxes, you know origami?”  
  
Chris nodded absentmindedly. He wasn’t really following, origami, yes, heard of it, but he was distracted watching Steve, the way the light got caught in the golden strands of his hair. Chris shook his head. If his thoughts turned that cheesy, he was in for a world of trouble. Steve laughed.  
  
“You’re not really listening, are you?”  
“Uh,” Chris answered. “No, sorry.”  
“’s alright. You probably got stuff to do,” Steve said quietly.  
“You’re not,” Chris said, cleared his throat and started again, “You’re welcome here. I’m not. Look, I’m not good at this having visitors thing.”  
“Are you kidding? You’re awesome at it. I’m having a great time! It doesn’t feel like being stuck at all.”  
  
Chris gave a halfhearted smile.  
  
“Gonna check the wood supply again. Few more logs won’t hurt. Better go outside,” he said and stood up, suddenly antsy.  
“Yeah, alright,” Steve said and tied a ribbon around the last cookie.  
“Uh, seeing that you're done, you wanna come?”  
  
They stood outside, the snow reduced to a few lazy flakes, and Steve cradled Chris’ jacket in his arms, hiding his hands in the warm lining, while Chris split the logs into smaller pieces. He worked rhythmically, easier than with the ornaments inside, and he could feel Steve watching him even though he did not pause to look at Steve. Whenever he took a swing, he could feel his flannel shirt riding up, the cold air hitting his skin, but the work kept him warm. As soon as he was done, Steve stepped behind him, draping the jacket over his shoulders and bending down to pick up some of the wood. Chris slipped his arms into the sleeves and pulled the jacket around himself. He waited until Steve cradled an armful of wood before picking up the rest of it. The easy familiar rhythm of it scared Chris, and he reluctantly followed Steve into the house again, shaking his head and silently chiding himself for being stupid.  
  
“You going to shower?” Steve asked after they had carried all the wood in.  
Chris nodded.  
“Great! I’ll just pile the logs and then make dinner, if that’s alright with you.”  
“Hell, yeah.”  
  
Steve laughed, low and rumbly, and Chris thought he could get used to this kind of company.   
  
When he came back into the kitchen, there was soup on the stove, and Steve was sitting at the table, head resting on both his arms, eyes closed. Chris touched his shoulder and Steve blinked at him.  
  
“Oh, wow, sorry.”  
“Long day, mm?”  
“No, it's. With the snow and the cold and nothing to do. I guess the small trip made me tired after all. Must be the fresh air.”  
“Slept like a log the first month after I came here,” Chris said.   
  
Steve nodded.  
  
“Do you think the snow will ease up tomorrow?” he then asked.   
“I don't know,” Chris answered. There must have been something in his voice because Steve looked at him, surprised.  
“What? You think I...”  
“You know,” Chris interrupted him, “I can drive you to town. The snow's not that bad, the truck might be able to handle it. Maybe you can catch a ride there.”  
“I didn't mean. Jesus, Chris. I don't want to leave. I just wondered about when the car will get to the garage and how long it will then take for repairs. You know, whether I can spend New Year's with my family.”  
  
Right. Repairs. Chris silently cursed himself for not thinking of the obvious. Even when the weather eased up, Steve might still be stuck here for at least another day.  
  
“Who's waiting for you anyway?”  
  
Steve laughed at that.  
  
“No fiancée, if that's what you're asking. My mum and dad, family, dogs.”  
“I wasn't asking,” Chris started, but then he realized that in a way he had been and broke off.   
  
“You should probably call them again, let them know,” he said instead.  
“After dinner,” Steve said and stood up to get the plates.  
  
Chris made Steve go into the living room for the call, so he could do the dishes, making more noise than necessary. When Steve came in to say that he would go to bed, Chris reached for his arm and held on.  
  
“You meant that, right?”  
“You're an idiot, Chris,” Steve said and leaned in and kissed him. “Yeah, I meant it when I said I don't want to leave.”  
  
Chris smiled and kissed him back before releasing his arm and letting him go.  
  
Chris lay on the couch, facing the ceiling and pondering instead of trying to fall asleep when Steve came back in. He was wearing the sweatpants again, and a faded gray tee that hung loose on him. He looked at Chris.  
  
“I want to see old photos,” he said.  
“What?” Chris didn't even pretend to be asleep.  
“You're not sleeping anyway. So. Do you have any of yourself around?”  
  
Chris sat up. He rubbed his face.  
  
“No, I don't think so.”  
  
“Ah, well.”  
  
Steve sat down next to him.  
  
“What's that about?”  
  
Steve shrugged, but didn't reply.  
  
“Come on, what's this about?”  
“Been thinking.”  
“About old pictures of me? What, like, whether you had seen me before?”  
“No, just. What you looked like.”  
“Must have hit your head harder than I thought,” Chris mumbled but stood up. He pulled a box from one of the shelves, leaving through it.  
  
“Got one of my momma here,” he said quietly, and Steve padded over to see. “See, right there, that's her.”  
“And the girl?”  
“My sister.”  
  
Steve made an acknowledging sound. Chris grinned and dug around some more.   
  
“None of me, sorry. Wait, here's one.”  
  
He pulled out the old photo someone had taken at some party or other, and they sat drinking around a small barbecue in the garden, pulling faces at whoever had been taking the pictures. He had been sitting with his back to the camera, but had been turning his face to glance at the photographer so he was in profile, saying something and raising his bottle.  
  
“That's me, right there.” He pointed and Steve took the pic from Chris after he held it out to him. “My hair was shorter then, kinda curly too.” Chris laughed under his breath. “Fucking thing curled into every direction, the part at the neck was a bitch.”  
  
He didn't wait for Steve's reaction, but went through the remaining few pictures and papers. There hadn't been that many pictures to begin with.  
  
“That's it though.”  
  
Steve handed the photo back and smiled.  
  
“Thanks.”  
“You know, there might be one really terrible one left,” Chris said. He went over to the couch again and reached for his discarded jeans, pulling out his wallet and handing over his driver's license.  
  
Steve laughed.  
  
“Hey, I look terrible on my license too,” he said and squinted at it. “Wait.”   
  
Steve laughed quietly.  
  
“What's so funny?”  
“Christian Michael Kane? Seriously?”  
“Oh God,” Chris groaned, “Only my momma calls me that. Better not start, boy.”  
“Christian. I like that.”  
“No one calls me that.”  
  
Chris knew he was close to growling.  
  
“Come on, it's really not that bad. I like it.”  
“Show me your license.”  
“Aw, it's in the car. Shame.” Steve grinned. “I had much much shorter hair than now and look like a dork, if that helps.”  
“Shorter hair.”  
“Yeah. Much shorter.”  
“As in what? 2 inches?”  
“Got me there.” Steve was still grinning. Maybe even grinning wider than before.  
  
“What happened to your hair back then,” Steve asked after looking at the picture again, “It looks awful, all crew cut and it sticks up weird and...”  
  
“That is so not a crew cut,” Chris interrupted, “It's short, yeah. But not...”  
“Dude, is that a sunburn across the bridge of your nose? Cute.”  
  
Chris grabbed the license and stuffed it back into his wallet.  
  
“You, bed. Now. Before I make you sleep outside. Ungrateful bastard.”  
  
Steve giggled and trodded off, yawning and waving before vanishing into the other room. Chris grinned when he lay back down again, curling onto his side and falling asleep easily.  
  
  
  
“You gotta stop making me coffee in the morning. I really might not let you leave,” Chris said when he came into the kitchen and Steve was already sitting in his usual spot at the table, hand curled around a cup of coffee.  
  
“Should have prayed harder then,” Steve said with a sad smile.  
  
It took Chris a while to catch up but when he did, he looked out of the window at a bright blue sky.  
  
“I'll be damned.”   
  
Chris sat down heavily and looked at Steve.  
  
“Guess I'll call the garage.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Depending on the damage, you could be on your way this afternoon.”  
  
Steve looked at the table, unsmiling for the first time after Chris had brought him here.  
  
“But then again,” Chris said, taking a sip out of Steve's cup, “It's dangerous driving in the dark.”  
“Gets dark early this time of year,” Steve offered.  
“Yeah, pretty early. Around 4.”  
“I don’t think the car will be ready before that.”  
  
Chris nodded.  
  
“Also,” he said and Steve looked at him, hopeful, “You should get a full check up. Who knows what else got shook loose in the crash besides the obvious damage.”  
“New tires, too,” Steve said, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  
“And wipers. God knows you will need working wipers.”  
“Better call my folks then, let them know.”  
  
Chris laughed.  
  
“Steve,” he then said, trying to keep his voice calm over the strange coiling in his stomach, “Are you sure?”  
“You really are an idiot,” Steve said and kissed him again.  
  
  
  
Chris called Jeff while Steve was in the shower.  
  
  
“Early Christmas present,” Jeff said, “I was about to call you. I can come and get your boy's car. Maybe even fix it up today.”  
“Uh, about that.”  
  
Chris smiled when Steve came in, a towel wrapped around his waist and looking sheepish.  
“I need to use your washing machine, if that's alright? I didn't bring enough clothes.”  
“I can see that,” Chris mumbled but Steve still heard and rolled his eyes.  
  
“Jeff will come and pick up your car, but, um, there is a queue.”  
“A queue?”  
“Yeah. He can't service it right away. Sorry.”  
  
Chris grinned at him, knowing that he did not look sorry at all. Steve laughed.  
  
“I need to borrow your phone too then.”  
“Be my guest.”  
  
Steve came over and kissed Chris on the head before taking the phone into the bedroom with him.   
  
Chris knocked before entering the room after a few minutes, finding Steve still in his towel sitting on the bed, still talking on the phone. Steve waved him in.  
  
“Mum? He’s here. Yeah. Okay.”  
  
Steve held out the phone.  
  
“She wants to say hi.”  
  
Chris looked at the phone and took it only after Steve shook it a few times into his direction.   
  
“Ma’am?”  
  
Chris glared at Steve who merely shrugged but somehow looked as if he was enjoying this. Steve winked at him, and left the room after grabbing a few things from his bag. Chris sat down on the unmade bed and gave a soundless sigh.  
  
“Yes, Ma’am, I took in your son after... yes. No. No bother at all.”  
  
Steve hurried back in in only boxers and a tee, and Chris stared a little, losing track of the conversation for a second and then backpedaling when Steve pulled on a jeans and a sweater.   
  
Steve stared at him wide eyed, while Chris still tried to catch up on how and why he was on the phone with Steve’s mother. Halfway through answering why Chris did what he did and whether Steve was really alright, Steve was in stitches, laughing so hard that he had tears in his eyes.  
  
“I’ll give the phone back to your son. Yes, thank you. Goodbye.”  
  
Chris glared.  
  
“Mom? Yeah, he’s a sweetheart. No, I won’t. Yes, I will. Say hi to the others. Bye!”  
  
“Sweetheart.”  
  
Steve laughed. “Yeah. She kinda liked the Southern boy thing you had going.”  
“It’s called manners. You wanna go into town today?”  
Steve paused at that.  
  
“Really? We could?”  
“Sure, cleared up enough. You can check with Jeff if you want to.”  
“The mechanic? Cool.”  
“I want to stock up on supplies again. Get some other things.”  
“Yeah, me too.”  
“What do you mean, me too?”  
  
Steve smirked. “Tomorrow's Christmas. Thought I'd cook for you.”  
“You already cook for me. No need to wipe up anything fancy.”  
“So you'd be happy with sandwiches? Don't think I believe that.”  
“Jacket. Now. Let's get into town before dark.”  
  
When they passed the site of the accident, Steve curled a little, looking straight ahead and missing the exact spot.   
“Looks like your car is already in town,” Chris said, “You ok?”  
“I was so sure I had hit you,” Steve said quietly.  
“You didn't. You went passed me, hit the snow and banged your head. Nothing happened.”  
  
Steve smiled, but it was sad around the edges. They didn't talk until Chris pulled over at the garage.   
  
“Do you want to come too? If you allow me to authorize all repairs, I can go in by myself and you can stay here in the car,” Chris offered.  
“No, I'm good. Sorry. That was just. I'm glad it happened the way it did.”  
  
They got out and walked towards the building when Steve grabbed Chris by the arm.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
“What,” Chris asked gently. Steve looked as if freezing already, even though he was bundled up, and Chris wanted to get him into the relative warmth of Jeff's garage as quickly as possible.   
  
“Thanks,” Steve said and pulled him into a tight hug, “For everything, alright?”  
  
Chris hugged him back, pressing him close for a moment before awkwardly releasing him again. He offered a smile, not knowing what to say. Placing his hand on the small of Steve's back, he steered him in, not wanting to break contact entirely yet.  
  
The car was up on one of the two platforms and didn't look as bad as Chris had feared. Jeff was half lying over the driver's seat, fiddling, when Chris came up to the car.   
  
“Better put that back, the owner of the car is here and I guess he wants to keep all his cds.”  
  
Jeff turned, surprised, and grinned when he saw Chris. He slid out of the car, wiped his hands on a piece of cloth that he quickly stuffed back into his back pocket before wrapping Chris into a bear hug.  
  
“Boy, it's good to see you. Glad you made it down.”  
  
Chris made a sound and padded Jeff on the back but Jeff didn't budge.  
  
“Need to breathe,” he finally said and Jeff released him.   
  
Chris turned towards Steve, who was shuffling his feet and looking at his car.   
  
“This is Steve. Steve, Jeff Morgan. The magician who will fix your car.”  
“Nice to meet you.”  
  
They shook hands and Jeff winked at Chris.  
  
“So, you're Steve, mm?”  
“Be nice,” Chris warned.  
“What? I _am_ nice!”  
  
Steve laughed quietly at that.  
  
“I'm Steve, yes.”  
“Cute.”  
“I said, be nice,” Chris warned again.  
“Yeah, you never liked that,” Jeff said and Chris could feel his face heating up.  
  
“Uh, how about I leave you two to discuss business and go get stuff for the cabin? Be back in half an hour, then we can get groceries. Good with you, Steve?”  
  
Jeff smirked but did not say anything else. Steve looked from Chris to Jeff and back as if trying to decide something but then nodded.  
  
“That's cool. See you in half an hour then.”  
  
Chris knew he was bolting. He did not need to hear Jeff's laughing to confirm it.  
  
When he came back, both men were sitting in the small office and having coffee. He tried to listen in to their talk, but couldn't make out single words, just a murmur and then the brillance of Steve's laugh. He smiled and opened the door.  
  
“You guys ready?”  
“Yeah, we're all through discussing repairs. And payment. So you can have your boy back now.”  
  
Chris glared a little but he knew from experience that there was no use in even trying to stay mad at Jeff, not even when he made careless remarks. He looked over at Steve, who was getting up already, wrapping the long scarf around his neck again and pulling on his jacket.   
  
“Cute,” Jeff said again when he followed Chris' gaze.  
“Shut up. How long will repairs take?”  
“I need to order one part, so I think day after Christmas for delivery, maybe 28th then. If we're lucky.”  
“Thank you, Jeff,” Chris said quietly. Four more days, he thought.  
“Anything.”  
  
Jeff slapped Steve on the back.  
  
“Be on your way now, Merry Christmas and happy shopping. Don't get killed,” he said cheerfully. He frowned and added, “He likes ham.”  
“Shut up,” Chris said.  
  
Steve was still chuckling when they got into Chris' truck.  
  
“Is that true?”  
“What did you talk about? How to cook for me?”  
“That too, yeah. Mostly the car though.”  
“Mostly. Reassuring.”  
“So, glazed ham?” Steve grinned.  
  
After raiding the store of what was left of regular supplies and getting a ham because Steve insisted and swore he knew how to roast it, they drove back to the cabin. Chris enjoyed the drive, the snowladen trees, the quietness of winter all around them. He was always glad to leave the town again, especially during the holidays when the stores were filled with last minute shoppers.   
Steve gave a sigh, and wriggled deeper into his seat.  
  
“Good to be driving home again. Though I enjoyed meeting Jeff.”  
  
 _Driving home._  
  
“You really need to tell me what you talked about.”  
“Nothing much. Car's in pretty bad shape, I broke the...” Steve trailed off, “the something. Whatever. It needs replacement and does not come cheap.”  
“Yeah. Car parts hardly do.”  
  
Chris pulled into his driveway. _Home._  
  
After they had put away the groceries using a system Steve had suggested, because let's face it, he was the one cooking and Chris had no storage system whatsoever unless you counted having a shelf for spices and one for everything else, Steve pulled Chris over to the couch.  
  
“Sit,” he instructed, and before Chris could complain, he followed. He sat down, surprised at himself, and waited.  
  
“I got the rest of my things from the glove box,” Steve said, as if that explained anything. He shoved a small box into Chris' hands.  
  
“Uh,” Chris said, but when he opened it, it contained a small photo album.  
  
“I was going to give it to my mum, but there is no harm when we go through it before, right? Let's see.”  
  
Steve bowed down to leaf through it and Chris just sat there, staring at Steve, the way his hair fell forward, and felt that tug again.  
  
“Here, that's me on Christmas, see?”  
  
Chris looked at the picture, a blonde kid with tousled hair that was slightly too long, big grin on his face while he was sitting in front of a Christmas tree with presents still under it.  
  
“That's me playing in a club, I don't remember when, but see? My hair's shorter.”  
  
His hair _was_ shorter on the picture, coming just over his ears, curling down his neck, and Chris laughed at that. It wasn't short, although the top layer still revealed the tips of his ears. He liked the picture, because Steve looked focussed and lost in the music at the same time. It helped that the jeans sat snug even though they were bell bottoms.   
  
“Flower child,” Chris mumbled affectionately.   
“You don't know half of it,” Steve laughed. “You haven't seen the one with the flower print shirt yet.”  
  
Chris didn't knew what to blame, Steve's easy smile, the fire in the stove, the lazy fall of snow outside, but he leaned over and cupped Steve's cheek before kissing him. It was different then before, more heat, more urge to touch. Steve was moaning softly into Chris' mouth and pressing closer. Chris took the album from Steve's hands and closed it, placing it on the table without looking, and when he tangled his other hand in Steve's hair, Steve licked at Chris' lips and gave another one of those moans that went straight into Chris' stomach and sat there like burning embers. Chris tried to pull Steve closer and Steve wrapped himself around Chris as best as he could, reaching for Chris' hair too, pulling a little and almost climbing into Chris's lap. When Chris slipped his hands under the loose grey sweater Steve was wearing and Steve threw his head back while pressing even closer, Chris pulled away.  
  
“Bedroom,” he said. “Now.”  
  
They barely made it into the bedroom, Chris trying to pull the sweater over Steve's head in the tiny hallway that leads towards the back of the cabin, Steve's hands all over Chris' back, just touching touching. Chris kicked the door open and it slammed against the wall, two steps to the bed and they fell, sideways, Steve laughing with the sweater still over his head.  
  
“Get it off,” Chris growled. He tugged at it and Steve wriggled out of it, looking at him, breathless, and then smiling a little.   
  
“Damn,” Chris said, pushing Steve back so he was stretched out on the bed. “You're gorgeous.”  
  
Steve just grinned widely as if he knew, and reached out for Chris. Chris let himself be pulled into Steve's arms, and then flipped, just let it happen and waited for Steve to say something, anything. Steve straddled him instead, one swift motion, and then pushed against him, body flush against his, rocking slightly.   
  
“You like that, don't you,” Steve asked and gave another push.   
  
Chris reached up and tangled one hand in Steve's hair, pulling him down for a kiss. Steve broke the kiss to gently bite at Chris' ear.  
  
“You like it. Say it.”  
  
Chris growled and arched up and into Steve, and Steve laughed a little, pushing Chris back at the shoulders, pining him to the bed and looking at him.   
  
“Come on, say it. Not much of a talker, are you?”  
  
Chris easily broke free again, pushing himself up and licking at Steve's neck. Steve undid the buttons of Chris' shirt, giving a huff when he discovered the henley underneath it, but then tugging both up.   
  
“No,” Chris said, voice husky, “You're doin it wrong, you're getting me all, let me.”  
  
Chris twisted put of the shirt and pulled the henley over his head. Steve pushed him down again, and then they were skin on skin. Chris moaned quietly.  
  
“I like your voice, so you better talk to me,” Steve said. He leaned down and bit the skin at Chris' neck, causing him to cuss and try to arch away.   
  
“Fuck, your skin,” Steve said, “All smooth and warm and. God.” He let his hands stroke up and down Chris' chest.   
  
“Too many clothes,” Steve decided.   
  
Chris nodded, turning his hips to throw Steve off balance so he could get out of his jeans. Steve tsked at him, unbuttoning his own jeans and pushing it down his hips, and Chris reached for him, hands fitting the narrow hips perfectly, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the skin and Steve made a sound, throwing his head back and pressing down on Chris.  
Chris brought a nail to the skin there, scratching, barely breaking the skin but Steve keened and rolled off, pulling off his own jeans and then grabbing for Chris'. Chris managed to get the buttons open before Steve pulled at the trouser legs, and he laughed, breathless and genuine. Steve knew what he wanted and Chris let him have it, allowed him to straddle him again.  
  
“You got to tell me if it feels nice, so I know,” Steve said.  
“You,” Chris managed, “You feel nice. Now shut up.”  
  
Steve laughed, started rolling his hips again, and Chris would be damned if he could still think. He grabbed Steve's ass, pulling him into a more urgent rhythm.   
  
“Shh,” Steve said, “Don't be so impatient, you'll get to fuck me, Christian, I just want to play first.”  
  
Chris moaned at this, no chance in hell that he was able to wait now. Not with Steve saying his name like that, almost hissing the s in the middle, and not with him saying things like that. He pulled at the boxers Steve wore.  
  
“Off. Now.”  
  
Steve rolled his eyes, but moved off again and slipped out of his boxers, pulling at Chris', too.  
  
“You too,” he said, “I want you naked, 's unfair otherwise.”   
  
Chris slipped out of his boxerbriefs, turning to the night stand and getting a condom and lube from the drawer. Steve grabbed his wrist.  
  
“I want to be on top of you, will you let me, Christian,” he asked and all Chris could do was nod at that. He did not trust his mouth to be able to form words now, not with Steve pressed against him like that. “Let me ride you, I want to watch you.”  
  
Chris pulled Steve on top of himself. Sometimes, talk was overrated anyway.  
  
He woke up again when it was still dark. Steve lay across his chest, their legs tangled. Christmas Day. Three more days like this and then maybe he could visit Steve. Get to writing songs again, get another job in LA, maybe. Going back there somehow didn't seem that bad anymore.  
  
“I can actually hear you think,” Steve mumbled. “Either stop it or tell me what it's about.”  
“LA,” Chris said, “Could use a change of weather.”  
  
He could feel Steve smile against his chest.  
  
“Don't know,” Steve said, “I kinda start to like the snow.”


End file.
